Screaming In Silence
by Maelstrom
Summary: Sibling rivalry takes on a new form. Is hatred towards an unknowing sister justified?


Hi, my first TCP fic here, please be gentle. :) 

TCP: Screaming In Silence 

by Maelstrom 

You don't realize how lucky you are. 

Yeah, you, the short one babbling nonsensically to your best friend beside you. Who else would I be talking about? Both of you giggling over some stupid little thing like a pair of babies, as if sharing some sort of secret that the rest of us realworlders aren't allowed to know. Oh yeah, you're lucky, babe. You just don't know it yet. 

I hate you. 

And you're only five years old. 

And my sister. 

You don't get it, kid. You just don't get it. You're too young to know. Too young to figure out what's going on in this cruel world they call reality, too naive to think that everyone is just like you, little sweet sugar dumpling, apple of everybody's eye. Yeah, that's right, Pretty Miss Jabbering Princess. The absolute darling of our hearts. 

I hate you. 

Listen to yourself. Rambling on about your imaginary pal Snowpatch, going on and on about her supposed "magic-ness", how she keeps the dark monsters away, keeps the bad people gone. Happily telling with that sparkle in your eye how Mommie read you this terrific bedtime story last night, and then how you both talked about it, chattering about everything and nothing all at once, all that a five-year-old could possibly think of and be concerned about. And then she snuggled with you until you fell asleep, and you were so happy, so happy 'cause Mommie loves you and Daddy loves you and Grandpa and Grandma love you and you know this 'cause they call you regularly on the phone to see how their little baby is doing. 

*I hate you.* 

You'll always be the favorite, won't you? You'll always be the adored one, the one everyone showers attention on. The one people will look at, will divert their attention to, because you're cute, you're miscievous, you're funny, you say things that make people laugh. 

Because you *talk.* 

Because you can speak and chatter and laugh and rant and rave and do things verbally that I, *I* can't. I hate you, you little bitch, and you don't know it 'cause you're just five years old and you're my little sister and you think that the reason I don't talk is because I'm a mute, and you just give a nod and say "Oh" whenever Mom and Dad try to explain that your big sister can't talk to you, so she can't join in any of your little word games. Oh yeah, you're just a darling, sweet, good little girl, aren't you, just have to be *so* understanding about it, don't you? 

Well stop it, you little snot, 'cause you *don't* understand! You never will, you hear me? You're a stupid, naive little baby who thinks that everyone is just like you, except for big sister who can't talk but that's okay, we can do other things together. Well SHUT UP, 'cause you know NOTHING! Nothing, you hear me? Nothing! I wasn't born like this! I *could* talk! I *could!* I could laugh and yell and bawl just the same as you, and Mom and Dad would always come running to see if I was okay, 'cause I was their little girl, and Grandma and Grandpa would call *me* up on the phone 'cause I was their only grandchild, and they spoiled me silly and played rhyming games with me and asked me questions that they knew I had the answer to. 'Cause I could *talk.* 

That was before. 

Then *it* happened. 

You don't know the world out there, girlie. You think everyone'll be as sweet to you as Mommie and Daddy are. Well grow up, kid, 'cause that's all a lie. All damn lies, stupid, stupid lies that *I* had to find out the hard way. I was like you before, kiddo. I could *talk.* 

Now? 

Oh, I'm not totally mute, you know. Sounds *will* come out of my mouth if I opened it, but not the kind you'd use to giggle with your best friend, or to talk to your Mommie and Daddy. Ear-piercing, mind-shattering shrieks erupting out of this voice-box, sister, a high-pitched shrill guaranteed to destroy your hearing capabilities to smithereens. Oh wouldn't that just rock your world, sweet child. 

You know how it feels to wake up one morning, day after your first period, and start to talk to yourself in the mirror, but this shrill whine comes out instead, and you're so terrified and confused 'cause you don't know what to do, so you try to close your ears but you can't shut that noise out, those ears begin to bleed, mirror begins to shatter, windows crack into shards, pure havoc. And oh, how fortunate that Mommie and Daddy were out of town for the weekend, and they left Auntie Nell behind to babysit you while they were gone. And she has no idea what that ear-piercing shriek is, and she rushes up to your room and meets with the deadly assault which is your voice, and you try to talk but all you hear is that monotone, that siren-like whistle that won't stop, won't stop, won't stop, and your ears are bleeding and Aunt Nell, she screams as she clutches her own ears, and now blood is running all over the carpet as she crumples to the ground, and it's only a few days later that you learn the official name to the cause of her death, which I forget now but basically means that all the blood veins in her head went on overdrive and imploded inside of her, all because of a high-pitched siren like mine. 

Bet you didn't know that, didja? 

And you wonder why Mom and Dad always change the subject whenever you ask who this mysterious Aunt Nell is, and where she is now. 

Well there's your answer right there, kiddo. She's the Aunt who died before you were born and is probably in heaven right now. Yup, heaven. Victims always go to heaven. So I've heard. 

And oh, she wasn't the only one to suffer in pain either. All the neighbors could hear me from my room and were clutching their ears in agony, yadda yadda yadda, same old drift. And the phone rang, and I have no idea how I could've heard it above my shrill deafening siren, but I grabbed it and tried to yell for help, but all that came out was that stupid, stupid, horrible scream, and the person on the other line got his right ear busted for life and now has to use a hearing aid even though he's only 24 years old. You get it, kiddo? I caused that. Me. *Me.* 

And ever since that day I've never spoken a word. I've kept my mouth shut for, what, five years now? And I'll have to do that for life. Pretty picture to paint, isn't it, sister dear? 

And let me tell ya, babe, it wasn't easy to shut up the first time. I have no idea how they managed to get a hold of me that day and shut me up without me blasting their eardrums to pieces, but they did. Then for six months they kept me in That Place, full of padded walls and cells and two-way mirrors and stuff, all designed to study me and make sure that I learned to control my powers, make sure that I understood that the only way to make that stupid, horrible sound stop was to shut up, SHUT THE HELL UP. No other way to control it, just try vibrating those vocal cords and off you go into deafening oblivion. And unless I wanted surgery to cut that voice-box out, there wasn't any other way to deal with it. 

You have no idea how close they came to making that decision for me. 

They wanted to make sure that I would be safe enough to enter normal society again, and the *hell* I went through to ensure that safety -- but I won't go through that now. Oh no, 'course not. Not suitable for your delicate little ears, honey. 

Still curious? 

You ever wondered what it was like being confined to a padded cell, duct tape wrapped all around your mouth so that you wouldn't try to speak, *couldn't* speak, and you didn't understand what was going on and you tried to ask but you got no answer, and you tried to say something but you couldn't because of that duct tape and no one would tell you what was going on, and you were wrapped up in a straightjacket like some insane maniac just so that you wouldn't rip that duct tape off? And everything you did was monitored by everyone, down to the most private and personal details, that you felt ashamed of yourself and your own body and feelings 'cause you've just hit puberty for hell's sake, how were you supposed to know what was going on inside that body of yours? Stupid hormones. And you couldn't consume food the normal way 'cause that would mean taking off the duct tape, and no way were *they* gonna let that happen, so they just injected it into me like I was some kind of animal, injecting food supply right into my *veins.* And they'd have five people to do it, four to hold me down as I kicked and tried to scream but couldn't, and the other guy would inject me and I would cry and weep and rage, the humility driving tears out my eyes everytime I had to repeat that process over and over again, each and every day of those six long months. . . 

To this day I still bear those needle scars in the crooks of my elbows. People whisper and think I've done drugs. I wish. 

'Course, I don't wear duct tape now. I've learned to shut my trap. You try speaking, laughing, bawling -- just *once* -- and I can guarantee you a hell your five-year-old mind could never possibly comprehend. 

Oh yeah, six months sure leaves you with a hell of a lot of memories. 

So I become the silent one, the shadow. And nothing I do, not the grades I bring home, not the essays I write, not the pictures I draw, nothing will draw Mom and Dad's attention to me like they did before. Because I'll never be the child they wanted, the laughing, affectionate child who tells her parents about her day in school, about what she did with her friends and how there's this boy she likes but she's afraid to approach and needs a heart-to-heart chat with you to clear things out. They'll never see me as having any real feelings, because I don't express any to them. And that I'll just accept everything silently without question, because I don't voice out any protests. Because everything's just fine, yes, just peachy by me. 

They'll never love me the same. Because there's you. You're here now. 

You can *talk.* 

I hate you. 

End 

Maelstrom teentorque@hotmail.com http://www.geocities.com/TelevisionCity/9378 


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